


Cold

by Biting Words (Reyna_is_epic)



Series: H O M E [1]
Category: Lumberjanes
Genre: Alternate Universe - Orphanage, April Loves her friends, Christmas, Cold, F/F, Friendship to the Max, Homelessness, Jo is a cynical dork, Jo/April is questionable, LGBTQ Character, LGBTQ Themes, Light Angst, Mal is a little angst ball, Mild Language, Molly will be developed soon, New York City, Orphans, Snowstorms, Trans Character, Winter, fanon ages, first in a series, kids being kids, people need eachother, raccoons - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-17
Updated: 2018-08-12
Packaged: 2019-01-18 11:35:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12387291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Reyna_is_epic/pseuds/Biting%20Words
Summary: Mal was cold. That wasn't surprising of course, people are generally cold when they're in an environment that's covered in snow, but that doesn't alleviate her pain. She's still cold, whether that's a surprising fact or not, but the thing is that she's cold and it doesn't look like she'll be able to get warm anytime soon. You see she's cold, in new york, in a snowstorm, and the power is out. That's bad enough, but the real kicker is one crucial detail.Mal is homeless.





	1. Raccoons

Mal is homeless. 

 

She’s homeless and she’s cold. She doesn’t have anything to guard her against the cold unless you counted her vest and that was just old denim. She could try and go to a shelter, but that wouldn’t do her any good, and her usual spot in the public library wasn’t available given that it was closed.

 

Power outages suck ass.

 

So, Mal’s cold, alone, and living barely off of the warmth of a sewer grate a few inches away and pretending that her entire body doesn’t feel like it’s going to freeze off. It’s weird, Mal’s lived in New York for so long now that she hardly even remembers the small brownstone that she’d left in New Jersey. New York that never stops moving, that never stops changing, that just doesn’t stop. 

 

It’s stopped. It’s silent, block after block of abandoned towering glass giants, smoke, and snow the only things to be spotted in the air. The cars on the street don’t move, the blanket covers every visible surface for miles and the only people Mal has seen were fellow Homeless people running around and searching for any viable source of heat. She’d had to chase off a couple of Meth heads from her sewer grate about an hour ago, and the energy spent on that had almost cost her the little half rotted Chinese takeout she’d managed to scrounge up three days earlier.

 

Mal sighs and watches in vain as the air rises away from her like a ghost escaping her body. If only she could, get away from this alleyway and hands that are turning blue from the cold. Okay, that's depressing. Mal shivers and curls in on herself tightly. Usually, she’d be able to judge the temperature on some bank sign or some other thing, but today, with the power out and seemingly abandoned streets, the only think Mal is left with is the tears freezing to her cheeks.

 

She growls, the annoyance in her throat giving way to a rattling cough in mal’s chest that nearly makes her pass out, her lungs won’t take in the freezing air, it feels as if she’s breathing needles.

 

“son of a-” she wheezes as she slowly regains the ability to breathe again. Nothing has changed in her abandoned alley. Eerily silent streets and smoke coming from apartments in the distance. Mal’s left with only the echoes of her cough and the ice on her cheeks, she fears not for the first time that this will be the winter she actually does lose her toes. Last year she’d managed to scrape together enough money to get a coat, this year she’d not only grown, but hadn’t even managed enough money for shoes, and her red toes complain. The tears threaten to spill again, but crying gives her nothing except ice and stinging cheeks.

 

“Fuck you!” she shouts at the nearest wall and chucks the closest piece of garbage at it. The wall does not respond and Mal simply feels worse, the growing pit in her stomach threatening to chew her to pieces.

 

She didn’t want this, but who does? No one fucking plans to end up on the streets of a city they’d just moved to a week prior. Mal had barely gotten a week in her new apartment with her mom when the  _ event _ happened. Mal doubted she’d ever be able to hear the sound of an ambulance again, and she definitely wouldn’t go near a hospital. Even after she’d nearly gotten her jaw knocked out of her mouth by some of ‘the boys’ she’d stayed away, not just because she couldn’t pay.

 

Mal’s dreams, as few and far in between as they were, always consisted of a flatline. Shaking hands, blood on an operating table, and the screaming of a dying guitar. She’d once loved the sound and now she’d never hear it without wanting to throw up. 

 

Mal blinked, realizing she’d begun to fall asleep, that wasn’t good, she’d been in enough school to know that in this weather she’d barely make it an hour if she fell asleep. With more effort than should’ve been necessary she pulled herself back into a sitting position and placed herself closet to the sewer grate. The warm, smelly air was heaven on Mal’s skin. She whimpered slightly.

 

Her hands were hidden by the mittens she’d stolen from a donation box, but she knew they were just as sorely red as the rest of her body. Her jeans didn’t protect her from the soggy snow beneath her and she could only pray that her butt would go numb before it started to peel. A hoarse laugh almost made it to her throat. Almost.

 

She was interrupted by rustling in the garbage to her right, wearily she lifted her head in its direction. The choppy remains of Mal’s impromptu undercut whipped around in the biting wind. Her eyes watered in it and the mound of rubbage shook as something squirmed beneath it. Some part of Mal that wasn’t running on half a box of a maggot filled egg roll felt fear. The rest of Mal simply thought, ‘if I die here I don’t have to freeze to death anymore.’ However, instead of some merciful serial killer, Mal was greeted with fluffy ears and whiskers twitching at her.

 

“A raccoon.” She whispered dully, more mist rose from her mouth into the air. The raccoon cocked it’s head at her in a doglike motion and walked forwards, apparently not afraid of humans. Mal didn’t have the strength to shoo it away and simply turned back towards the sewer grate. Rabies would be the least of her problems. Instead of biting, or attacking her the raccoon began sniffing her face, annoyingly close.

 

“Listen, buddy, I don’t have any food, so scat,” her voice sounded weirdly muddled in her own ears and she couldn’t tell if that was her tongue’s fault or a result of her earwax freezing in her ears. The raccoon sniffed her again before licking her face with a tongue that smelled weirdly of cinnamon.

 

“Blegh! Dude, knock it off!” she shoved the raccoon away, but instead of rushing off like any other animal would’ve, it came back, licking her face repeatedly. Mal fruitlessly fought the raccoon, and lost badly, ending up on her back in the snow with the raccoon curled up on her chest. She huffed, glaring at her fluffy companion.

 

“What, you just want a pillow or something?!” she complained and the raccoon cooed in her face, licking her once more. Her face was significantly warmer at least, but that quickly faded as the raccoon slobber began freezing to her cheeks. Mal groaned in defeat and simply let herself be used as a pillow, at least the raccoon’s body heat would keep her chest from freezing to death.

 

“You’re the first raccoon I’ve met that didn’t attack me,” she muttered vaguely. The raccoon grumbled and, cautiously, Mal rose a hand and pat the creature's fur. Like a cat the raccoon purred, nudging Mal’s hand and part of her wondered if perhaps she’d died and this was some sort of pre-death hallucination before the void, or whatever the hell happened after death. The raccoon licked Mal’s fingers and she closed her eyes, trying to pretend this was normal.

 

Now on her back, Mal had a perfect view of the New York sky. Grey clouds moving tirelessly in an endless tide of grey. Mal used to imagine that the clouds were cotton candy, and at night the moon would ride across the grey expanse eating it all up until only the blue was left, and then, the next day the sun would restock. Not mal only wished to join the expanse. To become water and fade into the sun, to stop existing and melt into air. Her breath streamed out of her mouth and again Mal was reminded of the ghost.

 

Ghosts. Mal had never been one to think of ghosts. She didn’t believe her mother’s stories of spirits or her grandmother's tales of forgotten warriors. Mal believed in the terrible scream of a heart monitor that stopped beating. Ghosts wove their way around Mal like a blanket, the only source of warmth she had was her own breath of ideas and dreams that had died years ago. It almost was funny, almost. Mal was dimly aware that her eyes had closed.

 

The weight of the raccoon on her chest was distant, like something she’d seen on TV, not something she was experiencing. Ghosts whispered in her ears, her mother laughing with her father, her grandmother wishing her a happy sixteenth birthday, her old dog who’d died when she was five. Mal wanted to laugh, wanted to cry, but was left with only ghosts. With the ice on her cheeks, the feeling leaving her legs.

 

“Bubbles!” a voice so distant. It had to be another ghost, but this one Mal didn’t recognize. She tried to pry her eyes open, only to find them frozen shut. “Bubbles!” the voice echoed again. Mal was dimly aware of a weight leaving her chest.

 

“Oh, Sweet Mary Jane!” Mal was caught by the scent of vanilla and pine, the sensation of something… warm. Warm, lifting her, she wanted to open her eyes, wave the warm thing away, but was left only with darkness and cold.

 

Cold.

 

Mal was cold.

 

 

~

 

 

Warm.

 

Mal’s eyes snapped open and she sat bolt upright, only to get pushed right back down, vertigo tumbling around her crazily like a drunk roller coaster ride.

 

“Woah there, take it slow, you nearly froze to death,” a voice so soft and light that Mal could barely discern it from the ringing in her ears. Blearily, Mal was able to make out a blob of yellow and green that didn’t make logical sense. She squinted, only to be met with a sudden weight on her shoulders and sniffing loud in her ears.

 

“Bubbles! Not now!” the soft voice came again, complaining to the brown and black shape that was currently hovering above Mal’s head.

 

“Who- Bubbles?” Mal’s voice came out in a hoarse mixture of cracking and chattering teeth.

 

“Sorry, sorry about him, he just really likes people!” Whoever the blonde shape was she seemed to be nervous if not a bit embarrassed. Mal tried to remember how she’d gotten here. She reached up to rub her eyes and managed to clear her vision enough to make out who was above her, and she managed to jump so badly she smacked her head on the wall she’d apparently been sleeping next to.

 

She was gorgeous. Golden blonde hair and pale freckled skin like individual kisses from the sun. Her eyes glittered at her like twin emeralds that matched her sweater. Mal blinked and glanced around at the white room she was in, not white, beige, not a hospital, thank god. Mal glanced at the raccoon clutched in the other girl’s arms and she stared. She’d died. She died, this was heaven and there was an angel sitting in front of her with a raccoon, there was no other explanation.

 

“Are you okay?” the girl asked, her voice fit perfectly for her, the soft tones of her voice fitting with the gentle curves of the girl’s angelic face and Mal could feel heat filling her cheeks.

 

“I-I where-? She stuttered like an idiot and the girl facepalmed.

 

“I’m so sorry, I haven’t even introduced myself. I’m Molly, and you’re at Rosie’s.”

 

“Where?” Mal asked again and Molly blushed. Crimson flooding cheeks like porcelain and golden freckles glittered like sprinkles against the color. She covered her face with her hands and her raccoon dropped into Mal’s lap with a squeak of protest.

 

“I’m so sorry, I-I went looking for Bubbles and I found you unconscious in the snow, and I’m so so sorry if he hurt you or a-anything, but you looked like you needed a hand and Rosie is usually really nice so I dragged you back- and oh gosh you probably think I’m really weird and have places to be- but you looked so bad and I-” she talked a mile a minute, most of it rushing straight over Mal’s head, but she managed to piece it together.

 

The raccoon was Molly’s, and she’d saved her freaking life. Mal blinked and carefully reached out to pull Molly’s hands away from her face.

 

“I-It’s okay, I just… I… I’m Mal.” Mal was struck with emerald eyes staring directly into her own. Her heart thudded loudly in her ears and she almost choked on it. Molly didn’t answer her, looking equally stunned, staring at her, they were so close that Mal could smell her breath. Sweet, cinnamon and vanilla, the scents rolled over Mal like a drug and some part of her wanted to do something seriously stupid. Fortunately, before anything of that nature could happen, they were interrupted.

 

“SHE’S AWAKE!” a voice screeched to Mal’s left and she jumped so bad she slammed into the wall again, except this time she also knocked skulls with Molly, who winced away, turning to face the speaker. A small girl with the biggest eyes that Mal had ever seen stood in the doorway to the room in nothing more than an oversized orange jumper and track shorts. She grinned a wide, first grader smile showing off missing front teeth. Molly shook her head wildly.

 

“Ripley keep it down, you’ll wake Jen!” she whisper-yelled at the litter girl who only laughed in response.

 

“SHE’S AWAKE! SHE’S AWAKE! SHE’S AWAKE!” she sang, dancing out of Molly’s reach when Molly lunged at her.

 

“Who’s awake?” a new voice questioned and a new girl stuck her head in through the door. She stood the tallest of the other two, dark in complexion and with what looked like a welding mask resting atop her head.

 

“MOLLY’S GIRLFRIEND!” the little girl yelled, appearing to only have one volume setting and Molly turned bright red.

 

“She’s not my girlfriend!” she protested and a loud crashing came from the floor above, shaking the ceiling above Mal’s bed.

 

“Great job guys, you woke Jen!” another voice called and a short redhead came charging in, glaring at Molly who visibly blushed further.

 

“That’s not my fault! Ripley was yelling-!” Molly started and the redhead held up her hand.

 

“Ripley’s always yelling, Jen could sleep through ten Ripleys yelling, you yelling, on the other hand, gets her mom senses tingling,” she spoke like this made perfect sense. She was by far the shortest  of the group, but Mal got the impression she wasn’t the youngest.

 

“Mom senses? Is that like spidey senses?” the tallest girl asked, smirk quirking along her lips. Molly had yet to recover from Ripley’s accusation.

 

“Excuse me, but what the junk is happening?!” Mal interjected and was met by four sets of eyes. The shortest girl’s eyes widened.

 

“Molly, did you kidnap someone?!”

 

“I didn’t kidnap anyone!” Molly yelled, then seemed to rethink the situation of abducting an unconscious girl off the street. “I didn’t kidnap you right?”

 

“I don’t think you can kidnap a homeless girl,” Mal muttered half to herself, and sat up again, slower this time. She didn’t fall over and die, and wherever she was they had heating. Suddenly Mal was struck with something. Her vest was missing. “Where’s my vest?!” she yelled and threw off the covers, only to immediately throw them back on. “And my pants?!”

 

Three sets of eyes moved from Mal to look accusingly at Molly who held her hands up in surrender. “She was freezing to death! Google says to get people with hypothermia into dry clothes and out of wet ones!” she protested.

 

“Ripley, what were you saying about Molly having a girlfriend?” the tall girl asked and Molly turned red again.

 

“She’s not-!”

 

“Girls!” a new voice interrupted and a new girl entered the already crowded room. She was tall, not quite as much as the girl in the hoodie, with an untamable mass of curly hair sticking out on all sides of her head. She surveyed all of the girls with squinted eyes until she landed on Mal and squinted harder. She glanced at the girls, to Mal, and back again until finally she simply facepalmed and sighed heavily, leaning against the door frame.

 

“Explain. Now,” she ordered and Molly began a stuttering recount of how she found Mal, Mal interjecting every few seconds to either correct something or provide background as to what she was doing in the middle of the street during a blizzard in below zero temperatures. 

 

“So you went after your pet raccoon, which we agreed we weren’t keeping, in the middle of a snowstorm, abducted a homeless girl, and then stripped her naked and set her in your bed.” Jen, Mal guessed, stated flatly. Mal gulped and Molly’s face was a mess of red and pink.

 

“I-I didn’t!” she protested, but Jen held up a hand, rubbing her face.

 

“Fine fine! I’ll go tell Rosie to get a bed ready, in the meantime, just get the kid some clothes and some food.” With that, she went marching down the hallway with grumblings of “This is what I get for working for my aunt.”

 

“What did-” Mal began but was immediately tackled by the girl Molly referred to as Ripley.

 

“WHERE ARE YOU FROM?! WHERE’D YOU GET THAT TATTOO, WHAT’S YOUR STAR SIGN? DO YOU LIKE COOKIES? WHAT ABOUT CAKE? UNICORNS?!” she shouted right in Mal’s face and she was left with ringing ears and a stunned expression.

 

“I-uh,” a hand grabbed Ripley from behind and placed her on the floor, only for someone else to take her place. The tallest girl sat on the edge of Mal’s bed and offered a hand with fingerless gloves.

 

“The name’s Jo, that’s April-” she pointed to the redhead currently restraining Ripley, “Ripley, and you’ve already met Molly.” she pointed at Molly who was screaming into a pillow, still very red-faced. Mal tried not to think about that too hard.

 

“Where the hell am I?!” she shouted, finally seeming to get someone’s attention, and hopefully an explanation.

 

“Sorry about that, you’re on 45th, that’s about a block north of where Mol’ found you,” Jo seemed chill, but Mal couldn’t shake there was a veiled interest behind those dark eyes. The redhead sidled up to Jo, apparently managing to distract Ripley with something shiny enough to make an escape. 

 

“This is, kinda, a home for girls. Rosie’s the caretaker. She takes in girls who are either stuck in the foster system or on the streets. It’s been awhile since we got a new kid, Molly was the last one.” she explained and Mal caught a rude gesture from Molly directed at April. She responded in kind, coupling it with a stuck out tongue. She was promptly hit in the face with the pillow Molly had been screaming into.

 

“Hang on, home?” Mal questioned, she’d heard horror stories of kids that got stuck in homes, but this didn’t look like any home that Mal had heard of, for one it was way too new. 

 

“Yeah, but it’s not, like, a public one I guess. I dunno, it just never seems like there’s a lot of girls here. There’s like, five girls per floor, not including councilor, and then-”

 

“Per floor?!” Mal yelled and Jo shrugged.

 

“Yeah, she owns, like, the whole building.”

 

“How does she afford that?!” Mal practically yelled. Across the room, Ripley and Molly had begun wrestling, but Ripley managed to yell from beneath Molly’s feet.

 

“No one knows, I bet she’s got pirate treasure!” Molly whacked her with another pillow and Ripley bit it like a wild animal, shaking her head violently.

 

“Pirate…” Mal tried to articulate her emotions and failed.

 

“Look, it’s a lot to adjust to, and you aren’t obligated to stay here,” April said, “heck, half the girls in here just come and go as they please. Really, the only person who can make you stay is you. That being said I think a certain blonde would be quite happy if you decided to-”

 

“Shut up April!” Molly yelled, brandishing Ripley like a baseball bat. She giggled happily. April held up her hands in surrender.

 

“Fine, but you owe me twenty if you end up dating,” she announced and stood, dragging Jo up with her. “I’m going to make Ms. Hypothermia some soup, you and Rip should find her some clothes.”

 

“I would appreciate clothing, but first I’d like a shower-” Mal interrupted. It had been months, maybe even years, since Mal had gotten a proper shower, her skin itched just thinking about it. Jo pointed to a door at the end of the hall.

 

“You can use my shampoo and stuff, it’s the ones with the green caps.”

 

“I’ll lay out some clothes,” Molly announced and set Ripley down to begin rooting through her closet. Since everyone apparently had their own tasks, that left Mal to hers. The shower.

 

 

~

 

 

It’s amazing the things you take for granted. The simple act of turning a faucet and actual, clear, clean water cascading down from the ceiling? A bathtub that wasn’t covered in mold and hair? The water actually being warm? It made Mal weak in the knees. 

 

She stood under that water and scrubbed until her skin turned raw. She still felt as if she’d never be able to get rid of the stench of the streets, but the feeling of water running through her hair was heavenly enough to get her to step out of the shower, only to find a towel, an actual towel, waiting for her. She borrowed someone’s comb and got rid of as many tangles as she could, someone had left their electric razor, and mal figured: _as long as I clean it, it’s fair game._

 

She came out of the bathroom feeling human once again, only to found a set of clothes waiting for her in Molly’s empty bedroom. She changed quickly, not keen on finding out if the horror stories about homes were true. 

 

She hardly recognized herself in Molly’s mirror. What had always been a heavy body, one that Mal had inherited from her mother, had wasted away to nothing. She was left with ribs and bones that protruded at awkward places. Molly’s clothes hung off of her like she was a coat rack, a black jumper barely managing to stay on her shoulders, and even then mal had to constantly push it back up. Molly’s pants wouldn’t even sit on Mal’s nonexistent hips and she was left to rip what was left of her old jeans into a makeshift belt. Her face, once round and healthy was now sharp and hollow, her lips dry, cracked, and pale. She felt like someone had sucked all the life out of her and what remained was a pale comparison.

 

She felt sick. With that she stumbled to try and find the other girls, vowing never to look in a mirror again.

 

 

“Ripley, it says to add water, where did you even find that?!” Mal vaguely recognized Jen's exasperated tone and walked into a kitchen only to find everyone, plus a 6ft 5in ginger lady arguing in a kitchen covered in any and every known cooking substance. Jo’s hair was slicked back with vegetable oil, April’s face was covered in spaghetti sauce, Molly was sneezing clouds of flour, and Ripley had somehow managed to cover herself in both peanut butter and chocolate. Jen was wrestling her, trying to get her to sit still and just getting covered in it in the process. Rosie was simply leaning against the counter with little bits of mint and chives in her hair.

 

“Howdy, Mal,” she said calmly whilst the arguing continued in the background. Mal swallowed uneasily.

 

“H-how’d you know my name?” she asked and the older woman shrugged.

 

“Heard your new friends talking about you, you’ve definitely made a stir, been a while since we got a new Lumberjane.”

 

“Lumberjane?” Mal questioned and narrowly missed getting impaled by a flying fork. 

 

“April! This is not a time for target practice!” Jen’s voice yelled. Rosie didn’t seem particularly bothered by their squabbles so Mal simply settled on the counter beside her.

 

“Lumberjanes are the names I give the girls that stay here. I keep count of them all. You don’t have to stay here kid, but they’ll be glad to have you if you do,” Rosie gestured to the group of girls. Molly and Jo were now having a competition as to who could mix faster while April continued flinging forks at the wall. Jen had calmed Ripley and was now wiping at her face with a washcloth.

 

“They seem to be… doing fine on their own,” Mal muttered. She didn’t know what to say. Homeless kids know that you never trust anyone offering you anything. Money, a place to sleep, food, it all comes with a price. Sometimes that price is just really well hidden, but looking at them, it wasn’t the price that made Mal hesitant. It was their closeness. The way Jo laughed like she’d never known sadness, how April flung words around with such affection that she could physically feel it, the way Jen’s motherly way of cleaning Ripley's face made Mal subconsciously wish for her own. 

 

She couldn’t ruin that. She couldn’t become a part of that. Mal wasn’t that person. She was a loner, always had been. Even before her mother’s  _ event  _ happened, she had stuck it out. No friends, no family, just her mom. Just an empty apartment.

 

But if she could. If she could. That thought kept coming back. Rosie’s eyes were obscured behind her glasses, but Mal got the feeling that she knew her answer before she spoke it. “I’ll stay for a little while, If I don’t like it I leave if I do I stay. No strings attached, nothing. Alright?” she asked and Rosie shrugged.

 

“Your choice kiddo. I’m just here to buy everything. Speaking of which,” she stood up from the counter and marched over to where Molly and Jo were struggling over a bag of flower, each yelling their own cooking instructions to a very flustered looking April. “Stop wasting the flour!” Rosie ordered before vanishing down the hallway to god knew what. With that, silence fell across the kitchen and once more Mal was met with five sets of eyes, not including the raccoon perched on Molly’s head. Mal gulped. What had she just signed herself up for?


	2. Christmas

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas, good luck, don't get mugged or die, please don't hate me. Love Y'all! -M

****Molly’s embarrassment had limits. She was a naturally shy person and as such, embarrassing her was not a hard thing to do, however calling a random girl she’d just met -who (though admittedly attractive) was clearly half frozen, starved to death, and overwhelmed to the point of literally shaking- her girlfriend was the line. It was a very deep and very prominent line that made her want to slam her head into a wall.

 

Then, of course, there was Mal herself.

 

Mal was, in the bluntest and simple way to state it, the human embodiment of a kicked puppy. Molly had known that since she opened her eyes. Mal had some of the darkest eyes that Molly had ever seen in her life and though there were squinted through swollen eyelids Molly could tell they might even rival Ripley’s for most innocent looking.

 

In her old sweater, Mal was still little more than a skeleton with a fearful expression and black hair hanging around her face. She must’ve used Jo’s razor to cut her hair again because the sides looked shorter. Of course, she didn’t exactly have a chance to observe it in detail earlier, she’d been gripped by the panic of “holy heck there’s an unconscious girl!”

 

Then she’d been gripped by, “Fuck, unconscious girl is attractive!”

 

And finally, “SHE’S NOT MY GIRLFRIEND!!!”

 

Truly, the time to take in her hair had not exactly come about. Perhaps during the initial “she’s attractive!” would’ve been a good time, but Molly never really had a thing for hair, it was always the eyes that made her into a puddle of, “FUUUUUUUUUCK.”

 

Which was just dandy that Mal did, in fact, have the eyes that made her into a useless pile of gayness. But mal had one other thing, the cherry on top of the big gay sundae. Mal had a tattoo and if her former clothing was any clue, she was a bit of a punk. Molly, unfortunately, had a thing for punks.

 

She was dead in the water.

 

“Earth to Molly,” a voice interrupts and Molly nearly faceplants into the counter, apparently caught in her daydream, color flushing unbidden up to lick her cheeks.

 

“I’m here!” she calls desperately, only to meet Jo’s smirking face and wish she had in fact face planted on the counter. It’d be less embarrassing.

 

“Not your girlfriend, eh?” Jo questions simply and, desperately, Molly smacks Jo with a spatula. The taller girl simply laughs and catches the spatula with a gloved hand. “Relax Mol’, we’re just joshing you.”

 

“You’re trying to kill me.” Molly hisses under her breath. Jo rolls her eyes.

 

“Molly, do you honestly think we’d care if you liked her? I mean for real, I’m Trans, April and I have practically been married for years and Jen-”

 

“No!” Molly interrupts before blushing. “no… it's not… I don't…”

 

“Molly,” Jo says gently. “We’ve all come from rough places. You can talk to us about yours, there's no judgment to give.”

 

“Jo,” Molly says the name like it hurts. “Please don't make me.” Jo’s face crumples like a Jenga tower. Molly almost feels guilty. “Jo, I-”

 

“No, it’s fine.” Jo straightens herself upright, but Molly notices that it's not as far above herself as it used to be. “you’ll tell me when you’re ready. There’s no rush.” With that she’s gone, mumbling something to April about getting back to work on a project and plucking a screwdriver from Ripley’s hand on the way out of the kitchen, leaving only five.

 

Mal looks more lost than ever.

 

“Project, like, school project?” she questions and April laughs shrilly.

 

“No, Jo graduated two years ago.” She waves her hand dismissively and Molly sighs, rolling her eyes.

 

“Yeah, but the rest of us are still in school, Jo’s just freakishly smart.”

 

“Bit of an understatement,” Jen mutters, placing the, hopefully edible, pie in the oven. Mal looks a little pale.

 

“You mean Rosie makes you go to school?!”

 

“She lets us choose!” Ripley exclaims, jumping onto Jen’s back. Jen winces, looking both in pain and off balance.

 

“And you chose to go back?!” Mal squeaks, incredulous.

 

“Beats sitting around doing chores all day.” April decides and Molly rolls her eyes.

 

“Don’t listen to them. They're still in middle school, they haven't died inside yet."

 

Jen whacks Molly over the head with a dishtowel.

 

"Ow!"

 

“The point is, Rosie doesn’t force them to go to school, but if you plan on sticking around I will,” Jen declares before turning back to washing dishes in the sink. Ripley has begun making herself a bubble beard while April watches with a broad smirk.

 

“Hang on, if they’re in middle school, how old are all of you?” Mal’s eyebrows have furrowed together, creating a small crease between them that looks as if it’s been there often. Molly tries to direct her attention away from her and towards the sink where Jen’s trying to force Ripley to wash off her bubble beard.

 

“Me and Rip are twelve,” April mutters, jamming her thumb back in Ripley’s direction, “Jo’s 13,” Mal begins spluttering and Molly has to jam down a giggle, that had been her reaction when she learned that the tallest Roanoke was also one of the younger ones, “and Molly’s 15.”

 

“Sixteen in about two weeks,” she murmurs and turns to give Mal a smile. Mal’s face turns an impressive pink color.

 

“A-and you,” she mutters, directing her gaze in Jen’s direction. Jen sighs.

 

“Too old for this,” she mutters simply. Ripley has given her bubble eyebrows and is styling her a Santa beard. One of her eyes has begun to twitch. Molly chuckles to herself and hands Jen a towel.

 

“Jen’s nineteen, she just comes to stay here sometimes because Rosie was friends with her mom when they were younger.” She explains and Mal nods, pulling at her hair uneasily.

 

“So, I take it you’ve all been here a while?”

 

“Well, sorta,” April mutters, “me and Jo arrived together when we were, about, nine? We’ve been here the longest, the first couple months we were constantly in and out, never keen on sticking here, that was until Ripley arrived.”

 

“YEAH!” Ripley announces with vigor, launching dish bubbles everywhere and Molly coughs after inhaling some of them. “Then Molly got here just a couple months ago!”

 

Molly laughs nervously and offers Mal an empathetic look, “I was like you, kinda got dragged here without any clue where I was going. I hadn’t been on the streets that long though, maybe two or three weeks? It’s not really important.”

 

She pretends not to notice the way that April, Ripley, and Jen are looking at her. It’s the most she’s said about her past since she appeared. Maybe the addition of someone equally as confused makes her feel a little more comfortable? Or maybe she’s still a little overwhelmed by all that’s happened this morning.

 

“I, uh, I’ve been on the streets for about a year,” Mal mutters softly, finally Molly looks straight at her and Mal shrinks, shoulders curling in on herself and arms coming up to hug them. Her hair droops down just in front of her eyes and Molly has the sudden urge to push it away. She keeps herself still.

 

“You get kicked out?” she hears herself asking the question, but her voice sounds far away. A different time, this is not the time to get caught up in the past.

 

“No,” Mal whispers, her voice is quiet, but not fearful, sadder than anything else. “My… my mom died, my dad left when I was little, and I didn’t have anywhere to go so I just… went out.”

 

Molly doesn’t offer an apology, simply looks at Mal with something between understanding and hurt. She can’t breathe.

 

The room seems darker, all she can see is Mal’s hunched figure, twisted horribly until it resembles a much taller, much stronger woman. One with angry blue eyes and hair like a shock of white lightning down her back, Molly squeezes her eyes shut.

 

 _Breathe._ She reminds herself, and so she does. She forces her lungs to take in air and clasps her hands down onto the counter. Tighter and tighter until she can feel her fingers start to bruise.

 

“Molly?” She whips around to find Jen facing her. “Are you alright?”

 

Mal’s attention has been diverted to Ripley who is giving her her own bubble beard now while April chatters away about all the cool things they’re going to do later. Molly takes a minute to remember how to speak.

 

“I-I’m fine,” she whispers and turns to go back to her room, but Jen has caught her by the shoulders.

 

“Look, we get it if you don’t want to tell us everything about you, but you can trust us, Molly, we’re here for you,” Jen is just as kind-hearted and caring as ever and the familiar twinge of guilt makes its way into her stomach.

 

“I’m sorry,” her voice sounds heavy and hoarse and she feels something start to prickle at her eyes so she shuts them. “I just… I’m going back to my room.” And with that, she’s down the hall and huddled in the back of her closest among the deepest reaches of her clothing. Moth-eaten sweaters and forgotten dresses she hasn’t worn since before she-

 

“Stop,” she growls the word aloud, pushing her hands against the sides of her head as if she can block out the thoughts. But the dam has been opened and apparently it’ll take a lot more than that not to get flooded out.

 

Memories like floodwater, taking over her senses and threatening to drown her in the sheer forces of it. A woman with white blonde hair and a man with a disapproving glare. She’s coughing up more and more of them, soon she won’t even be able to breathe.

 

Not that she could in the first place. What need is there to breathe when even the air itself is hostile and unforgiving. Oxygen won't come, she’s choking on thoughts and emotions that have long since passed. The deep-seated fear of a child whose mother never loved them, it burns in the back of Molly’s throat like alcohol.

 

She clamps her eyes shut and grinds her hands against her skull, trying desperately to shut them out. It’s dark inside the closet but behind Molly’s eyes, it’s so very, very bright.

 

~

 

An abandoned whitewashed bedroom, the entirety of it untouched like a museum exhibit. Children’s toys that have never been played with, clothes that have never been worn, sheets that have never been slept in. It’s all for show, fake, a plastic dream not meant for Molly.

 

“Molly,” her voice is cold, the iciest thing Molly’s ever felt, her skin prickles at the noise. Her back aches.

 

“Yes ma’am,” she whispers and turns to look at the woman. White blonde hair, cold blue eyes, frown drawn in perfectly stenciled lips. Her eyebrows draw together.

 

“What are you doing in here?” she snaps and Molly swallows the ache growing in her chest.

 

“I-I…” she doesn’t have an answer other than the abandoned single crayon at her small, childish feet. She prays that the woman doesn’t see it.

 

Her eyes are daggers, grating on Molly’s skin as they drag their way down ever so slowly to land on the single blue crayon at her feet. Molly can feel the need to run building in her too tiny legs.

 

“What is this?” Her voice turns shrill and sharp like fingernails on a chalkboard. Molly chokes back the stinging in her eyes.

 

“I-I don’t know what you’re referring to ma’am.”

 

Her eyes snap up to her face and Molly flinches. The woman nods as if she’s confirmed her worst fears.

 

“Foolish girl, I’ve told you a thousand times-” she lurches forwards and Molly lurches back, scrambling desperately to get as far away from the woman as possible. Her spine hits the wall and the woman’s hand closes around her wrist, squeezing tightly in a vice grip. Molly knows it’ll bruise later. She squeaks and tries desperately to loosen the hold anyway. “You’re not allowed into the bedroom! That’s another night without dinner-”

 

“Ma’am please-!” Molly’s begging, begging, her cheeks feel swollen and the tears are heavy in her eyes now, but she knows better than to cry in front of this woman.

 

“I am your mother!” she shouts and Molly doesn’t have time to move away from the hand that comes down hard on her cheek. She can feel it begin to swell again. She’d hit the same cheek yesterday.

 

“Please,” she hears herself whisper. The only response she gets is being forcefully pushed to the ground.

 

“If you want to be in here so bad, fine, you won't be allowed out for three days, no food, water, or bathroom.”

 

The lock clicks.

 

Molly cries.

 

~

 

The closest is dark. Molly can’t even see her hand in front of her face, but she can still tell it’s shaking. The fingers trembling so rapidly that it would resemble a blur in the light, but in the darkness, it’s just a single fluttering thing that twitches constantly like it’s grown a mind of its own.

 

The mind of a frightened small animal perhaps.

 

She can hear the door to her bedroom open.

 

“H-Hey, uh, Molly…?”

 

It takes Molly a minute to remember why she doesn’t recognize the voice.

 

“In here…” she makes no effort to raise her voice above a whisper. Part of her hopes that Mal won’t hear her and just go back out to the others. Instead, footfalls sound gently on the floorboards before she’s thrown back into the light of the real world.

 

For the first light she’s seen in about an hour, Mal is incredibly dark. She’s black clothes, dark hair, and warm colored skin like the embodiment of a sun on the cusp of night has come to greet her. Of course, Molly’s still blinded, blinking rapidly and uneasily at the other girl like she can’t quite process what she’s seeing.

 

“Molly…?” Mal asks, eyebrows knotting together and lips pursed together in a frown, Molly turns her expression down to her feet, watching the socked toes as they twitch in regular intervals.

 

“What’s up?” she lets the question hang, but her voice sounds awful and rough like she’s been smoking longer than she’s been alive. Mal drops down beside her, instead of immediately peppering her with the “you can talk to me-” that she’s been receiving from the other girls since she showed up all she gets from Mal is silence and a gentle shoulder bump.

 

She’s grateful.

 

“Just… too many people… you know?” Mal’s smile is much too loose and much too tired. Molly knows it intimately.

 

“Yeah… I still get overwhelmed sometimes,” she whispers. Mal’s smile brightens just the smallest bit and Molly feels herself begin to smile back. Her eyes are still aching and she’s on the verge of bursting into tears once again, but she feels better, just the tiniest bit. She brushes at her face with her sleeve.

 

“So, Jen get you stuffed up with pie?”

 

Mal snorts, it’s a small sound like a dog sneezing, Molly’s smile tugs at the corners of her lips again.

 

“I don’t think I’ll ever need to eat again after that.”

 

They hang in silence and Molly sighs. It’s the closest thing to peace she’s gotten in a long time. She lets her head bounce back against the wall. Mal watches her silently, not commenting on the fact she’s curled up in a pile of old shoes and draped in assorted items of clothing. Molly watches Mal too, the way her fingers fidget with the cuffs of her sleeves, how her shoulders rise and fall with each breath, how her eyelashes catch on the tips of her bangs when she blinks before snapping back into place. Mal’s eyes bore into her, dark chocolate and warm beyond the deepest reaches of the earth’s crust. Molly wonders if she could fall into them, into those deep, dark eyes.

 

“How’d you end up here?” Mal’s voice is soft, gentle like a child scared of asking the wrong question.

 

“In the closet or in the home?” Molly hears herself ask. A smile tugs at the edges of Mal’s lips.

 

“I meant the home, but the closet would probably be a good explanation too,” she murmurs. Molly rolls her eyes and, without thinking, nudges the other girl with her foot.

 

“You don’t get all my secrets, yet buddy. You wanna unravel this mystery,” she dramatically points to herself, tossing her hair over her shoulder. Mal grins widely now, showing off slightly crooked teeth and pinching her cheeks in a way that makes the light catch them perfectly. Something tugs at Molly’s chest, “you gotta stick around.”

 

“Ooh, a mystery,” Mal’s grin doesn’t leave, and it lights up her voice like a Christmas tree. Molly’s throat constricts. “I might just have to stick around then.”

 

Molly relaxes once again against the wall. “You just might.”

 

~  
  


 

Molly greets what should be a lazy Saturday morning with a crick in her neck and laughter shaking her bed. She hardly gets an eye open before a weight is suddenly thrown onto her back and she’s squashed flat against the bed.

 

“Ripley!” she shouts and whirls on the younger girl who has begun laughing wildly, wriggling around Molly’s bed and leaving absolutely no room for her until she’s been kicked to the floor.

 

“What the hell Ripley its-” she glances at the clock and groans, “it’s 5 AM!”

 

“It’s Christmas!” Ripley replies and Molly simply stares at her in disbelief.

 

“It’s the sixteenth.”

 

“CHRISTMAS!”

 

Suddenly there’s crashing in the hallway and Jo comes skidding in on her socks, sliding across the hardwood floor with all of the grace of a figure skater.

 

“Did I hear Christmas?!” She says, grinning broadly and completely miss judging the distance between the door and Molly’s bed, falling face first into the mattress, sending Ripley flying and kicking Molly in the head.

 

“Ow! Jo, why are you even up this early?!” Molly asks and Jo simply shrugs, giving Molly nothing more than the rise and fall of her shoulders. She sighs and tries to get up, just in time to get a pillow in the face while Ripley climbs back into the bed, knocking off the pillow and then using Molly’s face as a stepstool. She spits, Ripley’s foot doesn’t taste very good. “Ripley!”

 

“What the hell are you people doing now?!” April asks from the doorway, running a hand back through her hair and observing the scene before her.

 

“They kicked me out of my bed,” Molly complains and April squints at the other two girls currently wrestling on Molly’s mattress.

 

“Rip.” Is all she offers before about facing and heading back down the hall.

 

“Wait, April!” Jo calls after the younger girl, sitting up and pushing Ripley into the mound of blankets Molly had kicked into the wall at some point during the night.

 

“Nope,” April responds opening her door. Before she can enter her bedroom, however, Jo’s jumped from Molly’s bed and is tearing towards her, grinning like a maniac.

 

“April, C'mon! Christmas is on the way!” she says and wraps her arms around the smaller girl. April squeaks and ducks beneath her arms.

 

“No, ew, you’ve still got morning breath!” she complains, but Jo simply gives her another crazy smile before both of them are tearing down the hall laughing like maniacs. Molly grunts in distaste and stands, ready to go back to sleep, but there’s still the issue of one little girl.

 

Ripley gives her the biggest, saddest brown eyes and sits up on her knees.

 

“I need someone to take me to see Santa.” She whimpers and Molly tries, really she does, she tries to say no and lay back down, but Ripley's eyes seem to get bigger by the second and though her bed does seem so enticing, she already knows that sleep won't come back to her easily. She sighs and drops her head in defeat.

 

“Fine.”

 

Ripley gives a great cheer and begins tearing through the apartment, chasing after both jo and April as they run in circles around the Kitchen before tearing back down the hall towards the stairwell.

 

Molly sighs and places both hands on her face.

 

“What, in the name of Billie Joe Armstrong is happening?” The voice is scarcely more than a mumble and Molly nearly jumps out of her skin from the suddenness of it.

 

As it is she whirls around, loses her balance and falls face first into her bedroom door.  _Way to go, Molly, you’re literally the clumsiest person alive._

 

“Oh, Jesus, are you okay?!” She looks up and the mumbling person is none other than a Sleep rumpled Mal whose hair sticks up in all direction and eyes are barely even open. Some part of her thinks she’s adorable but the majority of her brain is screaming that she’s embarrassing herself.

 

“Me? Fine, good, peachy, just absolutely, positively, great-” she rushes it all out in one breath whilst trying to stand. In the same moment however Mal was reaching down to help her and in her haste she simply succeeds in headbutting Mal in the underside of her chin, nearly sending her crashing to the floor.  _Really Molly, get a hold of yourself._  “Aw shit, I uh, I’m uh-”

 

Mal simply places a hand on Molly’s shoulder, cupping a hand to her face and chuckling softly.

 

“I’m fine Molly, just surprised me,” she chuckles, but her voice sounds strained and Molly really wants to dive back under the covers of her bed and never crawl out again. She claps her hands over her eyes and sighs heavily.

 

“I’m just not having the best morning,” she mutters in defeat and Mal chuckles. It’s a gentle breathy sound, one that makes Molly’s chest ache.

 

“Yeah I got that, why are Jo, April, and Ripley running around so frantically?” Molly chuckles gently.

 

“It’s getting close to Christmas and it’s the first one they’ve had where there were more than three people present so they’re all going a bit cuckoo. Plus Rip’s just always like this.”

 

There’s the sound of something very heavy crashing in the stairwell and Molly winces. Mal looks like she agrees.

 

“Christmas? Already?”

 

‘It’s, like, the sixteenth,” Molly offers and chuckles without humor. “These guys just don’t know the definition of patience, or subtlety, or getting up at reasonable hours of the goddamn morning.” She casts a venomous glare in the direction of the clock, now blinks a 5:11 at her. Mal laughs again.

 

“Yeah, fair enough.”

 

“Y’know,” Molly doesn’t know where she’s going with this, she just suddenly had the impulse to keep the conversation flowing and that’s probably going to be her downfall. ‘Since I’m heading out with Rip in like an hour to take her see a Mall Santa, you could tag along and get yourself some new clothes.”

 

Mal’s face suddenly turns a shade pale and Molly almost regrets asking.

 

“Oh, uh, It’s… it’s nothing I just...I don’t have any money…” she mutters softly, Molly feels a gentle smile pull her mouth up.

 

“Mal, it’s fine, we’ll just bum some off of Rosie, her job is to pay for everything anyway.” Mal winces.

 

“I just… I don’t feel good about it, especially if I’m… if I’m…”

 

“If you’re not staying here you’re going to want a new coat and some shoes, winters hardly going to end after this week.” Molly reminds Mal and she sighs, shoulders dropping in defeat.

 

“Fine, but only because now that you’ve mentioned its Christmas I’m craving some hot cocoa.” Molly laughs, it’s one of the first full laughs she’s ever had. Mal gives her this look of sudden admiration and Molly wants to frame that expression for the world to see.

 

“I uh… ahem.” she pantomimes a cough to compose herself, “I should… probably get dressed.” Mal blinks and color rises into her face.

 

“Oh, oh yeah, right, me-uh me too…. I’ll just uh…. Bye-” with that she scurries down the hallway, leaving Molly to watch with a small bit of admiration as she disappears into another closed off bedroom. She’s really growing on her.

 

~

 

Molly never had good experiences at the mall. When she was a little girl it was because she was constantly dragged from store to store and forced into tiny outfits that were absolutely nothing like her. As she got older it became more because when she went she knew that it was supposed to be a “special treat” and that she’d only pay for it later if she made even the smallest of mistakes.

 

Later, it was because of the crowds, all the people watching and silently judging the girl with the bright blonde hair, wide shoulders, and boyish fashion sense.

 

However, this time is different.

 

Mal is right at home in the crowds, whooping and hollering and laughing her ass off until she receives the glares that Molly’s always been terrified of, but then laughs in spite of them. Mal’s covered in whip cream from the hot chocolates they bought at the stand forty paces back and her hair is sticking up in literally every direction, but she doesn’t look as if she could care less and Molly’s heart is soaring.

 

She hasn’t laughed this hard ever and Mal seems determined to keep her laughing, throwing her hands up and around the place, talking about TV shows and Movies that Molly hasn’t seen as if she grew up with them and making jokes that don’t make the slightest of sense but still make it hard for Molly to breathe. It’s amazing and magical and she’s never felt Christmas like this.

 

Christmas was cold bedrooms, uncomfortable dresses, angry relatives, faux compliments and smiles laced with cyanide. Mal’s Christmas is giant grins, Korean barbeque, hot cocoa, and literally anything friend on a stick they can find at a convenience stand. It’s chasing her as she runs maniacally through the Dillards, thirty different Santa hats on all at once. It’s laughing so hard her stomach hurts and smiling to the point her cheeks ache.

 

Christmas is standing in the middle of the mall, drenched head to toe is snow and tears from laughter and looking up into deep brown eyes that don’t seem to be able to focus on anything else. It’s sitting on Santa’s lap for the first time in her life at age 15 and cackling while Mal pretends to take pictures like a proud mother. It’s carrying Ripley on her shoulders and shouting at the top of her lungs in Hot topic because Mal decided that she needed to get her ears pierced.

 

It’s something that Molly’s never even dreamed of and she wants to just laugh at it because it’s utterly ridiculous but it’s so damn happy. Mal is happy. This girl who just got dropped in at the deep end of Molly’s life is pulling her to safety after years of drowning and she’s known her for a day and a half. She doesn’t even begin to know how to react to that. She’s known Mal for a day and already she fears to know what a world without her would be.

 

It’s a world with cold bedrooms and angry parents, and bruises on her cheeks. It’s a world she hates and fears and she’s reminded of when she first showed up at Rosie’s.

 

She remembers hiding in her room for a week and refusing to speak to literally anyone in the house. She remembers when Jo accidentally dropped a Pan while making Mac and Cheese and how she’d immediately dived beneath the kitchen Table for shelter.

 

She remembers meeting a very enthusiastic Ripley and screaming the first time she jumped on her back without warning. She remembers a lot of screaming that first month as Ripley tried to adjust to the ‘don’t touch without warning’ rule.

 

She remembers fear of how long it would last before they kicked her out too. The fear that ran thick through her veins and turned her heart to ice. How she simply didn’t let them close to her, how she shut them all out through a 3ft thick steel door that she’s still trying to open again.

 

And how Mal somehow doesn’t even seem to notice the door is there. How she’s got an arm wrapped around her waist and a brand new coat on her shoulders and she’s pointing fanatically at a music shop, talking a mile a minute about how she used to play guitar when she was little. She wants to live in this day forever, forever suspended in disbelief because this is what she’s been dreaming of her whole life.

 

A friend.

 

It hurts and she feels like she’s going to cry.

 

“Woah, Mol’ you okay?” They’ve stopped beside a bench in the middle of the mall and Molly can’t stop the salt welling in her eyes.

 

“S-sorry just… can we take a break..?” she offers Mal a weak smile and Mal’s shoulders tense a bit.

 

“Uh… yeah, yeah of course just um… RIPLEY!” she calls after the little girl who is already halfway through the music store. “We’re gonna take five real quick, don’t wait up, just don’t go far!”

 

Ripley gives them a thumbs up and disappears into the store leaving them alone. Molly sits on the nearest bench and wipes frantically at her eyes.

 

“Are you okay? Did I say something wrong?” Mal asks quietly and Molly laughs.

 

“No, no just…. All this is reminding me of when I first showed up at… Rosie’s…” Molly tries to smile at Mal, but the action stings her cheeks. Mal chews her bottom lip, something darkens her face.

 

“Yeah… uh… you mentioned something about that yesterday…” she mutters and sinks to the bench beside Molly. Molly sighs.

 

“None of us come from real happy circumstances. April was orphaned at a young age, Jo was stuck in the foster system until she ran into April and they ran off together. Ripley had a huge family until they all died in a fire. Jen grew up moving in and out of foster homes and I…” Molly stops and shakes her head, she needs to talk about it at some point. She’s come so close to letting someone past her walls, why can’t she just fucking do it already?

 

“I… I got kicked out…” Mal blinks.

 

“Kicked out?” she asks softly and Molly nods slowly.

 

“It’s the classic story, right? LGBT teen gets kicked out of her parent’s home because they can’t accept her for who she is. Straight out of a damn tabloid,” she sighs and rubs at her face, “but… that’s not the worst of it. My parents… my m…. That woman. She always wanted me to be just like her. She was perfect and I had to be just like her. I think she got a bit ticked off when I looked just like her but acted so different. She never wanted a daughter, she wanted a doll she could dress up and parade around like some sort of prize. Trophy wife wants a trophy daughter, huh.” She wipes her eyes again. Mal’s gone incredibly still, but now that she’s started she can’t stop.

 

“Then I had to go and not only just be different because I was a little tomboyish, and I was messy, and sloppy, and not smart enough, and reckless, and a wimp, and stupid and everything like that. I was already everything she didn’t want me to be, then I just had to go and be gay too!” She grinds her palm against the wooden bench and forces herself to breathe, closing her eyes and forcing her lungs to take in air. The air stings.

 

Mal doesn’t speak. Then there’s a hand on hers.

 

Molly’s eyes snap open.

 

Mal’s looking at her with the saddest expression she’s ever seen.

 

“I killed my mom.”

 

She doesn’t offer an explanation, doesn’t offer words of consolement for all fo the things that Molly’s just blurted out for the first time to anyone and for some reason she’s glad. Mal’s supposed to hug her and say ‘I’m sorry’ and “that must’ve been horrible” and offer all these words of encouragement and love and instead she’s looking at her with something akin to fear and whispering her darkest secret.

 

Molly’s almost glad.

 

“What…?” her voice sounds hoarse.

 

“I killed my mom.” Her voice is stronger now, more sure, less scared. She sighs and leans herself against Molly’s side. Instinctually Molly wraps an arm around Mal’s shoulders. “When I was in… I dunno, ninth grade? Can’t believe it’s only been that long,” Mal licks her lips and wrings out her hands.

 

“When I was in ninth grade I was in something of a rebellious phase, and my mom had always had pretty bad health problems. So we argued all the time, I went out and did something stupid, came home, she’d freak, I’d pretend I didn’t care, all of that shit. I hit all of the check marks. Bad boys, dying my hair, getting a tattoo, bad grades, bad words, yelling at her any chance I got. It got to be too much for her heart. She never had that good of a ticker and the constant stress of raising a rebellious teenager who had an affinity for getting herself into trouble proved too much. It burst, and I rushed her to a hospital I… I watched her heart monitor go flat.” Mal sighs and drops her head into her hands.

 

Molly doesn’t know what to say, instead, she just stares as Mal quietly presses her hands to her forehead. Finally, she pulls her hand away and sighs.

 

“Sorry, just… I didn’t know what to say about… your… situation and I just… I blurted the first thing that came to my mind. I… shouldn’t have I just… you-”

 

“Mal.” Molly stops her and takes her hands. Mal stops talking, color rising in her face.

 

“We all…. We’ve all come from sad places. All of us have done or had bad things done to us. None of us are clean, none of us are innocent or pure, but we’re kids no matter how much we want to forget that sometimes. I think… I think tonight we need to just be kids, you know. Just be kids on Christmas, you and me.”

 

“I… yeah…. Just kids….”


	3. Clockwork

When Molly first showed up at Rosie’s Jo wasn’t sure what to make of her.

 

This knobby-kneed girl with white blonde hair stumbling down the hall, sporting a bleeding nose, and, despite the trembling in her shoulders and hand, staring defiantly at anyone who came within a five-foot radius, all the while April was apologizing profusely, clinging to her scooter like it was a lifeline.

 

Molly didn’t really talk much, barely acknowledged Jen when she appeared, carrying a first aid kit, and flinched every time Jen even so much as breathed at her.

 

After half an hour of staring contests, glares, and hushed growls, Molly had an ice pack on her face and a bandage on the swollen lump of her nose.

 

It was never really discussed whether Molly was staying or not, but she simply took the painkillers Jen offered, crept into one of the spare bedrooms, and didn’t reemerge for at least two days.

 

And Jo didn’t know what to do except watch.

 

Ripley was Ripley and immediately latched herself onto Molly’s side like a koala to its mother.

 

April was April and extended an Olive branch as soon as she could get Molly to emerge from her bedroom.

 

Jen was Jen and all smiles and reassuring words, gentle encouragement.

 

And Jo… Jo just watched.

 

Molly was monosyllabic, bruised in places she didn’t try to explain, clinging to sweaters and jeans far too big for her, so that no one could see the bones that peaked from under her skin.

 

Jo watched when, the first time Ripley grabbed Molly’s wrist without warning to pull her and show her something, the girl flinched so harshly she nearly whacked her head into the wall.

 

Jo watched when, the first time Jen chastised Molly for something, just a simple reminder to clean up after herself in the kitchen, Molly had broken down sobbing, curling up in her closet and refusing to come out for hours, Jen apologizing the whole time and looking close to tears herself.

 

Jo watched, mesmerized, when Molly was put on dish duty and somehow managed to clean the entire kitchen so thoroughly that Jo could actually see her reflection in the floor, and Molly simply left the kitchen without a word, a bottle of bleach clutched in her right hand so tightly her knuckles were white.

 

When dropped a pan in the middle of making dinner one night, she watched as Molly’s eyes dilated, the tensing of her shoulders, how every little bit of color and feeling left her body and she dived beneath the kitchen table. She watched as Molly pulled her knees to her chest, tucked her head between them, and trembled.

 

She didn’t scream, didn’t cry, didn’t even gasp, she just curled into a ball and shook.

 

And Jo watched, helpless.

 

People were like clocks, Jo had learned a long time ago.

 

Constant, forward things, no matter what Clocks always moved forwards.

 

But clocks were also so fragile, so easily broken.

 

So easily stopped.

 

Clocks never moved backward, mind you, unless forced to, unless someone wound them backward, but clocks stopped sometimes.

 

Sometimes it was something simple, a rusted gear, a broken part, a bent axel, a cracked bell.

 

Sometimes it was no one’s fault and the environment or age simply caught up to the machine.

 

And sometimes, a clock was broken.

 

Flung to the ground, smashed in with a hammer, left in shattered pieces on the floor for someone else to pick them up later, face frozen, showing only the time the clock broke and nothing more.

 

Nothing before or after.

 

If people were clocks, Jo mused, someone had broken Molly.

 

She was left only with the last display, an empty clockface staring at her with the end result of whatever had hurt her.

 

Jo watched, silent, useless, helplessly, as the broken clock continued to tick feebly, continued to try desperately to continue on, to move forwards, anything.

 

And the second hand moved.

 

Molly learned to smile at April’s puns.

 

The minute hand moved.

 

She stopped flinching whenever Ripley touched her.

 

The hour hand shook.

 

Jen’s presence no longer made Molly’s hands tremble.

 

But the clock didn’t tick on.

 

The time didn’t change.

 

The clock wasn’t fixed, but it was fighting for its life.

 

Jo just watched, waiting for someone to come along and collect the missing parts, so she could put it all back together.

 

Jo was a mechanic.

 

She fixed things.

 

 

~

 

 

When Molly returns from the mall with one Ripley grinning ear to ear, carrying an oversized teddy bear, and one newly arrived Mal, Jo knows she’s finally found her collector.

 

Molly’s cheeks are swollen, partially from the cold, partially from tears, Jo thinks. Mal’s eyes are in the same state and Jo can feel it. She’s always been better with machines than  with people, but she’s always been able to see what parts fit together, it’s how she met April after all.

 

And Mal is clutching Molly’s hand like a lifeline, and both of them are smiling like nothing else in the world matters and Jo can practically feel it emanating from them, the need in the way they cling to each other. Like it’s been years and their both so touch starved that it’s all they can do to keep from floating away from each other. Molly’s eyes have a light in them Jo’s never seen and Mal, though Jo hasn’t known her that long, looks a little lighter, a little less like someone’s tied a weight around her neck and told her to walk.

 

They leave Ripley to her own devices and disappear into Molly’s bedroom, whispering things Jo can’t hear and still gripping hands like they need the reassurance.

 

“So, how long you wanna bet?” April asks, startling Jo from the doorway to her room. She’s still in her pajamas despite the fact its at least noon, and the absurdity of April in thin Minnie mouse pajamas in the dead of one of the coldest winters New York has seen in a decade is not lost on Jo.

 

“Well depends,” she mutters, setting down the phone she’s been fiddling with all day and slowly peeling off her work gloves, “how long do you think they’re going to last before Molly spills her guts?”

 

April hums thoughtfully, eyes rolling upwards as if the ceiling of the living room will have some sort of answers for her. Jo smirks, watching as her oldest friend ponders the inner workings of the teenage mind like a sudoku puzzle.

 

“Two weeks,” she decides and Jo raises an eyebrow. April rolls her eyes again. “You know how quiet she is.”

 

“I also know that yesterday we got the most information we’ve ever gotten out of Molly about anything thanks to her,” she reminds April. April hums again, considering the new information.

 

“But this is Molly we’re talking about,” she reminds, “Crush or not, the girl’s got more bottled up in that brain than the government.”

 

Jo chuckles softly, standing from her desk and popping her back on the way up.

 

“I doubt the government has anything in their brains,” Jo offers, receiving a sharp glare from April.

 

“Jo,” she warns and Jo grins, showing off her best mischievous smile.

 

“I mean, that’s assuming the government has brains and isn’t just secretly a hyper-aware artificial intelligence slowly marching us all to our deaths and ensuring the destruction of humanity so that they can rebuild the world in their image-” she starts speaking as rapidly as she can in an attempt to get it out before April can shut her up, but the little red-headed ball of stubbornness tackles her anyway, sending them both crashing backwards into the couch, and nearly flipping it over with the sheer momentum of the impact. Jo begins laughing and April retrieves one of the couch's cushions, whacking her mercilessly over the head with it, still failing to stop the onslaught of Jo’s laughter.

 

“Stop! It! With! Your! Stupid! Conspiracies!” April punctuates each word with a whack and Jo’s thoroughly laughing, laughing so hard she can barely breathe, still trying to fight April off despite the debilitating giggles that are leaving her at a vast disadvantage in a fight that they’ve been having since they’ve known each other. A nine-year-old Jo claiming to a eight-year-old April that the world was run by the Illuminati and that one day Jo would control them all via mind control.

 

She had a very active imagination as a child.

 

Besides, she still hadn’t perfected the prototype.

 

“You love them,” Jo challenged once she’d regained the ability to breathe, only to be met with a hot glare from April, clearly unimpressed with the issued challenge.

 

“I love you,” she countered, raising her own brows in retort, “not so sure about your cynical brain.”

 

Jo claps a hand to her chest in mock offense.

 

“You wound me April, I’ll never recover from this offense,” she collapses back against the couch, feigning her hand over her face in an overdramatic fixture of pain. “Go on without me, you’ve broken my fragile heart, oh cruel mistress!”

 

“I’ll show you a cruel mistress,” April snaps back and Jo doesn’t have time to shield herself from the onslaught of tickles she receives. And so the laughter continues bubbling laughter and lost breath that Jo sometimes forget is so easy to conjure up.

 

April and her are young and, theoretically, Jo knows that. Jo knows that she’s going to look back on her actions in a few years and cringe at how stupid she’d been, how stupid she probably still is, but she also knows that she has been through more than the average thirteen-year-old.

 

All of them have, and she knows none of them behave like normals kids, with the exception of Ripley (though Jo has her own suspicions about that), they probably all make up pieces of the same broken clock, ticking only because they’re borrowing parts from each other to replace the ones they’ve lost.

 

And Mal’s brought more parts to the table, another broken clock to add to the mixture that at this point not even Jo thinks she couldn’t separate if she wanted to. They all need each other far too much.

 

Jo never knew her parents, never knew a family that was either dead or gave her up, she had learned long ago to stop caring about it because what did it matter when it didn’t change where she was now? When she had her own issues, her own projects, her own friends, her own family that did not depend on the past of someone who left her alone in a world that would not have mercy on her despite how intelligent she was, or how hard she worked.

 

(Deep down she knows that’s a lie, that she does care and it haunts her waking nightmares, imagining a faceless woman leaving her on a doorstep, hissing that she was worthless and not worth the trouble.)

 

Jo only knew April, and her grabbing hands that held her together more times than she could count while she just pieced April back together after the initial explosion. April, and the parents she’d known but watched die one after the other, straining in their old age to recognize their daughter standing at their bedside, tears in her eyes because, _no mama, I’m not Suzanne._ _No, Papa, I’m not your high school girlfriend._

 

April who grinned like the world was in her hands and every little movement could bring about the best thing in the world. Like every little spark of life, the blinking city lights, the loud bustle of the street, the silence of snow, the setting sun, the lonely moon in a sky too bright for stars, all of it was just too bright, too wonderful, too amazing to contain it all in that one tiny body.

 

April who burned like fire, fierce, and protective, and everything that Jo was not. Jo was thoughtful, Jo was smart, Jo planned, Jo strategized, Jo tested, experimented, found the safest, the most efficient route.

 

April plowed ahead, looking death in the face and letting out a war cry.

 

They made the perfect team.

 

Jo only knew Ripley, and late nights trying to wrangle the younger girl off of her because  _ I need to study, Ripley! _ Ripley, who spoke like the world was an adventure, like no matter what she was on a mission to save the world and Jo was stuck along for the ride whether she liked it or not.

 

Ripley, who grinned at Jo when she screamed that she just didn’t understand this stupid math problem and it felt like her brain was melting out her ears, and said that brain goop would be awesome and they could probably sell it to zombies for a lot of money, “Of course since it’s Jo’s brain we’ll have to charge double, extra concentration and all that.”

 

Ripley, who gave the best hugs, and the biggest smiles, and deepest puppy eyes she’d ever seen.

 

Jo loved her like the little sister she’d never had.

 

Jo only knew Jen, who protected them all like her own flesh and blood. Motherly looks and words that dripped with sarcasm about as often as they dripped with a pride well beyond her years and experience in life.

 

Jo remembered a particularly bad dream where, instead of her mother leaving her on the step, a faceless woman who she’d never get to miss because she’d never seen her, it was Jen who growled down how she wasn’t worth the trouble.

 

Ten years old at the time, trembling and crying the whole while, she’d crept into Jen’s room and, without ever asking why, Jen just held her, assuring that she was safe, that Jen wasn’t going to leave her.

 

Jo knew Molly, though admittedly not as well as April, Ripley, and Jen. Molly who was quiet, who listened better than anyone else she’d ever known. Who was smart, but rarely showed anyone, much less the people that mattered, exactly how smart until one day Jo asked, rhetorically, how the hell Molly always seemed to know what time it was and Molly had spent the next thirty minutes lecturing Jo on how to use the position of the sun to calculate exactly what time of day it was based on the season and day of the year.

 

How Molly somehow seemingly knew everything there was to know about constellations and Greek myths as well as the origin of cement and where humans first discovered how to write. Molly who was so quiet it was deafening most of the time, but once you got her started, her eyes lit up like headlights and she wouldn’t stop talking until she’d educated you on whatever subject you’d started her on better than most doctorates.

 

Molly, who Jo somehow knew was only hiding because she was afraid of what she’d see under her own skin.

 

 

~

 

 

The week came and went and Mal decided she was staying for the time being, at the very least until the year ended.

 

Ripley was ecstatic, they finally had a full group, and Mal was loud and funny and she had a  _ tattoo _ , so she was obviously the greatest thing since sliced breath.

 

April celebrated by making Mal more peanut butter and Jelly sandwiches than she could eat and they all sat in the kitchen laughing and stuffing themselves to their hearts content, celebrating the final piece of their horribly mismatched puzzle.

 

Jen nodded her approval, muttering under her breath about how much more complicated her life was going to get, but Jo could see the smile concealed behind her own sandwich.

 

And Molly was  _ beaming _ . Quiet, gentle, scared, simple Molly. Molly who sealed herself away in the bedroom for most of the months she’d been living there, was positively buzzing with energy in Mal’s presence.

 

Jo thought about the clock again, broken, second hand, minute hand, hour hand, all pulsating and refusing to move forward.

 

Now the clock was spinning faster than Jo could keep track of.

 

Waking up at four in the morning to the two girls dancing down the hallway to some 90’s song she didn’t know, giggling like children and gripping onto each other for balance so their socked feet won't spill them to the floor.

 

Molly starting to actually join them for meals, dragging a snickering Mal with her, whispering between each other in hushed tones and laughing at things no one else understands.

 

Mal plucking an old beat up guitar that looks like it was pulled out of a trashcan and duct-taped back together, and Molly and her crooning the words to some early 2000s song that Jo still doesn’t know, cackling the whole time and struggling to catch their breath afterward.

 

Mal’s staying around in the days leading up to Christmas and Jo’s never seen Molly smile like that.

  
Like the world isn’t a dark and cruel place, like something in her life matters, like her life isn’t over, like the clock didn’t stop moving.

 

The clock ticks forward.

 

The gears slot together and suddenly Jo gets it.

 

She couldn’t fix Molly because Molly wasn’t broken.

 

Molly was just half.

 

And Mal was the other.

 

~

 

It’s Christmas Eve and Jo’s standing next to the Christmas tree, arranging presents with April, some of which were probably bought with Rosie's money, others might’ve been made, a large percentage might’ve been stolen, but no one needed to know that.

 

It was the thought that counted, not the possible felony.

 

The image of clocks won’t leave Jo’s brain, it hasn’t since she came to the realization that Molly’s clock apparently needed parts of Mal’s. Jo thinks about her own clock and wonders, for the first time in a long time, if hers is ticking still or not.

 

Jo doesn’t like to dwell on the past, what good does it do when she can’t change it.

 

Clocks tick forwards.

 

Never back.

 

Unless someone winds them back.

 

“Do you ever think about our first Christmas?” April asks suddenly, staring at the golden wrapped package in her lap. The wrapping paper isn’t perfect, but it’s neater than Ripley's so Jo assumes it’s Molly’s.

 

“Not really,” Jo mutters because, it’s the truth, she doesn’t. Jo doesn’t think about her and April’s past at all usually, she much prefers the present.

 

April hums disapprovingly, glancing up at Jo with humor in her eyes.

 

“Well, I do,” she drawls and Jo just rolls her eyes indulgently.

 

“You were a cute kid,” Jo concedes and April laughs.

 

“I was the best kid,” April sticks out her chest proudly and Jo tosses some leftover wrapping paper at her head. April deflects with her wrist and sticks her tongue out.

 

“And I can see you still are one.”

 

“Oh shut up!” April tosses the paper back at Jo and she dodges it simply. April’s still smiling that nostalgic smile that Jo’s learned to associate with memories of younger days. Younger days she tries to avoid.

 

“Anyway, remember what you got me that year?” April asks and Jo scrunches her face up, trying desperately to remember.

 

 

Jo remembers a crowded CoEd foster home, seven kids total, including her and April, the ‘parent’, Ms. Jessica was her name, was constantly frazzled and running around and while it was clear she was trying, she just didn’t have the skills necessary for seven traumatized children.

 

Jo remembers a little girl with big amber eyes and a fierce glare she directed at the older boys when they’d make fun of Jo for wanting to put her hair up. She remembers the girl whose face turned red when she was angry, and grinned so wide she could probably swallow the sun when she was happy.

 

And Jo loved that girl. The one who held her hand when the storms came, the one who promised her she didn’t have to cut her hair short like the other kids did if she didn’t want to, the one who promised her that she’d teach her how to do makeup like a true makeup artist.

 

Jo remembers a Christmas where the tree was old and plastic with broken lights that flickered every couple seconds, and shedding half its pine needles daily. 

 

Jo remembers handing the little red-haired girl a present wrapped in construction paper because it was all Jo could find and she just wanted to do something nice.

 

 

“I gave you that necklace, the one with the bottle cap,” Jo remembers and April grins that wry smile.

 

“It was very romantic for nine-year-old Jo, I wonder where that hopeless romantic disappeared off to?”

 

“Oh, shut up April,” Jo groans, dropping her hands over her face. April throws her head back laughing, and Jo pretends she doesn’t feel the burning in her face. “I could be romantic if I wanted to!” she protests and April laughs so hard she snorts.

 

“You? The most romantic thing you’ve done is talk about your watch,” April sits up from her spot on the floor, flinging her hands up in a ‘romantic’ pose, clapping a hand over her heart and gesturing with the other towards Jo like she’s going to begin reciting Shakespeare. “‘Oh, but April, the chromium body is just so beautiful, and the way that it ticks sounds like a thousand angels singing!’”

 

April’s voice is ridiculously shrill and Jo chucks her pillow at April’s head, hitting her dead on and sending her toppling to the floor.

 

“I do not sound like that!” Jo protests, face bright red and doing a very convincing imitation of April’s ‘Jo’ voice.

 

April simply laughs from beneath her pillow and Jo sighs with exasperation, she has half a mind to flip April off and be done with it, but Ripley could walk in any second and if she can protect the innocence of one child she will.

 

Instead, she simply kicks April’s pillow and ignores the squeak of protest and stands, popping her back and then proceeding across the room to retrieve a Christmas cookie.

 

“So what does nine-year-old me’s presents have to do with anything?” she asks April who is rubbing her nose looking vaguely annoyed. She fixes Jo with a glare, but Jo simply smirks in response.

 

“I may have sighted Molly’s present for Mal before she wrapped it last night,” April stage whispers and Jo raises her eyebrows.

 

“Well, she’s certainly more of a hopeless romantic than I am.” Jo remembers vaguely, a blushing Molly struggling to speak to Mal whose hair was still damp from the shower and wearing nothing besides an oversized t-shirt and boxer shorts. Honestly, teenager, Jo, rolled her eyes.

 

“Well, I think it’s sweet,” April huffs, nudging Jo with her elbow until she caves and lets April eat the remainder of her cookie from her hand. 

 

“Again, remind me who the hopeless romantic of us is?”

 

April rolls her eyes, fixing Jo with a look.

 

“Jo, they’re not dating yet.”

 

Jo freezes, cookie halfway hanging out of her mouth.

 

“They’re not?!” she questions, voice muffled. April shakes her head miserably.

 

“I talked to Molly last night, they’re being idiots and not realizing that they’ve practically been dating for the past two weeks, because teenagers are apparently the biggest idiots on the face of the planet.”

 

“I’m technically a teenager,” she reminds April and April looks her over, deadpan.

 

“I stand by what I said.”

 

“Ouch,” Jo mutters, swallowing the remainder of her cookie. “Okay, so what are we going to do about it?”

 

“Why would we do anything about it?” April questions, but Jo can read the mischief in her voice.

 

“Because you’re April and you wouldn’t have mentioned it otherwise,” Jo reminds her and April hums in agreement.

 

“You know me well,” with that she steals the last cookie from Jo’s hand and leads her by the wrist back towards her bedroom.

 

“Come on, let's start operation: Baby gays.”


End file.
